


Bound

by NairobiWonders



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: Eventual Joanlock, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, mild violence and torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-16
Updated: 2016-03-11
Packaged: 2018-03-13 04:53:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3368570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NairobiWonders/pseuds/NairobiWonders
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Moriarty turns her attention to Joan and Sherlock. They are kidnapped, tortured, threatened ....</p><p>Finally finished! Sorry I dragged this one out for so long. Thank you so much for reading reviewing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

She slowly rose to semi-consciousness from a deep and comfortable sleep. Her face pressed against the flat plane of his back, his cotton tshirt warm and soft against her cheek. Her arm was wrapped around his middle; her fingers interlaced with his. Joan breathed in and squeezed closer to him. He reciprocated by leaning back into her and further entwining his leg with hers. They drifted back to sleep. 

 

\----- Several weeks prior ---

Walking to the bodega at nine at night, list in hand, Joan discussed with Sherlock the ME's findings on the Pilston case. "He'd been in the river for a few days, so we lost some valuable information." A warm cloud of breath appeared as she spoke. The streets were deserted; cold arctic air kept most sane folks inside. 

"Did you remember to list the brown mustard?" Sherlock kept his eyes straight ahead. 

"Yes, it's on here," she flapped the list in front of his face. "Along with the ox tail. I really don't think you're going to find ox tail at the bodega. ...Anyway, Mr. Pilson's body showed signs of a struggle, blunt force trauma ..."

"Watson." He whispered her name but the urgent tone of his voice made her stop. "No, no. Keep walking." She resumed her pace beside him. "We are being followed by a beige van. It slowed down just a few feet behind us."

Peripherally, Joan verified his statement. Sherlock continued talking. "Should the need arise, run, head for the intersection behind us. Call for help." He had his phone out, his camera app open.

"Don't you think you're over reacting?" Joan didn't see any danger. "Wait. What are you doing? Are you taking a selfie?" She laughed as Sherlock placed his arm around her shoulders and brought her in close for a photo. He aimed the camera high and to the side. She heard the click of the camera followed by the sound of the van revving up and stopping next to them. The doors flew open and two large masked men rushed at them. 

With quick movement, Sherlock pitched his phone across the street, as he yelled, "Run, Watson! Now!" Sherlock was immediately subdued and thus spared watching Joan being tackled and dragged to the van after him.

 

She awoke first, shivering. The floor was bare concrete, cold and rough against her skin. Confused and scared, Joan raised herself onto an elbow. Fear pricked at her; she had no memory of how she came to be here and in this condition. Her clothes were gone, replaced by black boy cut underwear and a band of black cloth across her breasts, tightly tied off in the back. Faint bruises were visible at her wrists and ankles. She felt the after effects of whatever had been given her - anesthesia of some sort she thought. 

Joan tried to focus her foggy vision and assess her surroundings. The room was huge, an empty warehouse perhaps; the lighting, a dim green-yellow fluorescent. As she scanned the space, she caught a glimpse of something on the floor close to the wall furtherest away from her. Her heart pounded as she picked her heavy-limbed body from the floor and stumbled barefoot across the cold void towards him.

He was unconscious. He too had had his clothes removed and was wearing a pair of black boxer briefs and nothing else. Joan knelt next to him and examined him for injury. Other than the beginnings of bruises much like she sustained, he seemed unharmed. 

Sherlock came to as she was examining him, "Where are we?" He propped himself up. His eyes first scanned the empty space and then took in the details of their attire. "Are you alright? What happened?" 

"I don't know." Joan reached out to him and helped him sit up. Still feeling the effect of the ether, which he surmised had been used to subdue them, he leaned against her for support. The touch of skin on skin gave them a fleeting sense of comfort. 

A blast of electronic static and squealing at a decibel level high enough to cause pain accosted them. Both covered their ears and searched the overhead areas for speakers. 

The noise stopped as suddenly as it started. A voice followed, deep and low, electronically altered to prevent recognition and to instill fear; it boomed at them.

"Ready to play?" A metal door clanked opened at the back wall and two men, tall and muscular, with faces obscured, strode towards them. A third man followed, pushing a gurney with electrical equipment on top.

Joan and Sherlock stood and inched back away from the approaching men. Sherlock made sure to position himself in front of Watson, while she stayed close up next to him, hand at his back, examining the space around them for an exit. 

A dark crackle reverberated against the bare brick walls, and then hissed "Nice." The voice was dark and menacing. "Work together and you may come out of this alive ... or not."

Swiftly two of the men in masks were upon them and overpowered Sherlock. Joan tried to stop them but was pushed roughly to the floor. They dragged Sherlock, his hands held behind his back, to the middle of the room and placed him before the gurney. 

"Yes. Let's make her watch first." The voice seemed to derive pleasure from the thought.

Sherlock's demeanor changed to a stoic calm as he was strapped onto the bed and electrodes attached to his bare chest, arms and legs. Joan was dragged closer to the gurney by the third man, who held her in place.

"Who are you and what do you want from us?" Sherlock's voice was strong and relaxed.

"You know what I want. Don't play games with me." Irritation dripped with every word the low voice uttered.

"I assure you..." Sherlock's sentence was cut short as his body contorted under the force of the electrical current. The charge was stopped and suddenly started again. Joan tried to look away but the strong hand of her captor turned her head towards the gurney. Sherlock convulsed again and again, his face stretched taut with pain. 

Joan screamed, "Stop it! You're killing him. We don't know what you want!" She struggled in the arms that restrained her as terror tore at her. She watched Sherlock's body shake from the aftermath of the current, knowing he could not survive much more. "We don't know anything!"

Loud static filled the room again, followed once again by the disguised voice. "Don't lie or you will watch him die before you. .... Perhaps you'd rather take his place?"

Joan looked at Sherlock's twitching body. "Yes, yes... I'll take his place. Let him go." She could see Sherlock trying to mouth a protest, but the words would not form for him.

Loud laughter came from overhead, "Excellent. You are willing to die for him? Good. Release him."

As they unstrapped Sherlock, he attempted to fight them off but was too weakened to be effectual. They propped him up before Watson, his eyes shone with fear for her. His words slurred as he spoke, "Watson .... don't .... I can take this...." 

The men brusquely pushed him to the ground and proceeded to place Joan upon the gurney. 

Sherlock threw his head back and yelled upwards, "Leave her. She is of no use to you. I have what you want!"

The voiced laughed once more, "Don't play games Sherlock. They are not your forte."

A cold sickening wave of fear swept over him as he heard the electrical generator buzz. He turned in time to see Joan twisting in spasms on the table, "No! I know who you are! Stop this!"

The generator stopped but Joan continued to grimace in pain on the table.

The voice lost its electronic mask. "Quite touching. You truly are willing to die for each other. Next time, I'll make sure to grant your wish."

With the last syllable of her words, the space went quiet. The men unstrapped Joan and let her crumple to the floor. Sherlock crawled his way towards her as the men removed the gurney, yanked wires and removed cameras and speakers with speed. Within minutes no physical trace existed of what had occurred in that space. Sherlock knew he should attempt to follow, make an effort to stop them, but his only concern was for his partner. 

He picked her up and cradled her tightly to him, attempting to absorb her pain. She clutched at him trying to regain control of her body. Together they sat for a few minutes, swaying as he murmured words of comfort into her hair and her breathing began to normalize.

The beginnings of their sense of calm was exploded by the crash of doors being rammed open and the stampeding intrusion of heavily armed men. Sherlock and Joan sat in shock, immobile, unsure of what was going on.

Bell emerged from the blur of uniforms around them. "Holmes! Joan!" He turned to one on his men, "Get the EMTs in here, now!" Marcus removed his trench coat and draped it around their shoulders.

An agitated Sherlock strove to speak. "Three men, masked, left ... maybe ten minutes ago. Three men.... Possibly a van... Watson ..."

"Okay. Its okay ... We've got this. We're combing the area..." 

The arrival of the paramedics ended any further conversation.


	2. Chapter 2

"It was Moriarty. I have absolutely no doubt of it." He kept his voice down in an effort to not disturb Watson who sat back with eyes closed on the ER bed.

Gregson interrupted him. "That's not possible. She's being held at a maximum security federal prison ..." So far his attempts at getting a factual statement from Holmes had proved ineffectual. 

"But we don't know where or who is guarding her, correct?" Sherlock came around from Watson's hospital bed to stand in front of them; his hospital gown flapped behind him.

Bell spoke quietly, "How can you be so sure it was her?"

"Towards the end of her 'play' session, she dropped the electronic masking. I am intimately acquainted with her voice. Watson may have heard her as well." He pointed at Joan whose eyes were now opened; she weakly nodded in agreement. "Her phrasing, her taunts; she only made a tepid attempt to hide her identity." Sherlock's voice was insistent and no longer a whisper. 

"We have no physical evidence that she, or anyone other than you two, were in that warehouse."

A frustrated Sherlock yanked off his hospital gown and picked up the clothes Ms. Hudson had brought them. "As soon as Watson and I are released, we will find your proof." 

"Sherlock." Her voice was weak but she made an effort to be heard. With one hand beginning to tug at the elastic band of the boxer briefs, he turned toward her.

"If you're going to change, use the bathroom."

"Oh... right. Sorry." 

The doctor came in to examine Joan before Sherlock could make his way to the bathroom. Gregson and Bell discreetly left the room but Sherlock remained, unwilling to leave her alone with anyone he did not know.

Over Joan's knowledgeable protests, the doctor decided to keep her overnight for observation. Sherlock was released but did not leave; he went upstairs with Joan to the private hospital room and helped settle her in.

A small knock on the open wooden door announced the return of Gregson and Bell. Hesitantly, they entered, afraid of disturbing Joan, but finding her sitting up in bed, they proceeded. Marcus filled them in on how the NYPD learned of the kidnapping: a kid, sneaking a smoke break, witnessed the attack and called 911. At the scene, Sherlock's phone was recovered and the image from the "selfie" helped track down the van. 

Gregson attempted once more to debrief Holmes; Watson had drifted off as they talked. Questions were asked but the answers were not the sharp and detailed statements that usually came from Sherlock. He was losing focus, unable to concentrate on detail, his eyes drooped and kept wandering back to Watson. Gregson jerked his head at Bell; they took what little information he did provide, pulled back and left Sherlock and Joan to recoup from the day's ordeal.

Truth be told Sherlock was not feeling a 100% himself, but the work needed doing. Ms. Hudson had also brought, along with their clothes, his tablet and spare phone. Sherlock set up shop in Watson's room, sitting by her bed so he could keep a clear view of the door and of her. The police had guards on the floor but he felt his vigilance was necessary. Even with his best efforts, little work was accomplished; he spent long stretches of the day staring at Joan while she slept. 

It was almost evening when she awoke to find him still at her bedside, his expression woeful. The room was quiet, the lights were dimmed; he had been watching her sleep much like he did at the brownstone. It gave her an odd sense of familiar comfort. 

"Are you alright?" she asked of him. 

"Yes. Of course. Why wouldn't I be?" He sat back in his chair and wiped at his face. "I spent the morning watching the person I ... I..." He closed his eyes and dropped his head. "Watching you be electrocuted ... tortured ... because of me. I was just thinking how much better off you would have been had we never met."

Joan rolled her eyes at him and winced. Apparently even eye rolling was painful at the moment. "Sherlock, don't." She smoothed the sheets before her. "I'm fine. Just disoriented. Scared. How are you?"

"Same I suppose. Unsure what to do to keep you safe." He leaned forwarded and rested his hand on her bed, fidgeting with the sheets. "She threatened long enough, that I thought she'd never act."

"Hello! How are we feeling?" Sherlock and Joan jumped as the nurse cheerily came through the door. ""My name's Helen, I'm yours for the night. They'll be bringing your dinner in soon." Nurse Helen proceeded to take Joan's vitals, maneuvering Sherlock out of the way as she did.

Once done, she turned to Sherlock and patted him on the shoulder, "You know, we'll take good care of your sweetheart. You needn't worry about her. Why don't you go get some rest?" 

He moved away from her touch. Sherlock's eyes glanced at Joan in embarrassment and then pinned the nurse with a gaze of distrust, "No. I am not leaving." Joan hid a smile behind her hand. She was relieved he was staying not so much for her safety as for his. God only knew what trouble he could get up to out there alone.

"Okay, honey." Nurse Helen continued, "I'll see if they can bring in a more comfortable chair for you so you can take care of your baby-girl tonight, okay?" Sherlock's eyes narrowed in contempt at the woman's tone.

Joan spoke up before he could say something rude, "Thank you, Helen."

"Your welcome, sweetie. Your dinner should be here shortly." She patted Joan's hand and left the room. Sherlock's eyes followed Nurse Helen as she exited the room.

"She's okay. She used to be a pediatric nurse. I remember her from my neonatal intensive care rotation. Helen has been around a long time. I'm just glad she didn't remember me."

Sherlock's shoulders relaxed a bit and he stood down. "Alright, then." He fought off the sense of indignation and sat. 

Dinner was shared and a comfortable easy chair found for Sherlock. The tray cleared, one more round of vitals taken, and the nurse tech and Helen left the room and let them be. 

A pale and tired Joan shifted in bed so she could better see him. "I can't shake this feeling of dread." They sat in quiet communication for a moment. "I was so afraid ... I thought I was going to lose you today." Her words slipped from her lips barely louder than the silence.

"You wouldn't be that lucky." The forced lightness in his voice quickly faded. "I wish it was only me she wanted to hurt. You must understand, Watson, you are her target. She administered a higher voltage for longer intervals to you." He inched closer to her as he spoke, his voice as low as hers. 

Joan sighed and shook her head, "Why not just kill me ..." 

Sherlock winced at her words. "It's all a game to her. Her plan, I assume, is to be present to revel in the sight of ...." He couldn't finish the sentence. His hands nervously played with the edges of Joan's blanket. "She wants you to pay for your sins and mine ... while I watch.... and she watches me." The last of his words were more mouthed than said, his hands stilled at the thought.

Joan could feel herself getting angry, "So, the evil genius is just an immature creep seeking revenge for being bested and rejected." Joan smirked at the thought. 

Sherlock looked up at her surprised and a little amused. "Most of them are." He answered flippantly. 

Joan half-smiled, and smoothed the blanket his restless hands had crinkled. "I wonder why now? What caused her to act now?"

"Perhaps we upset some plot, inadvertently thrummed an odd silk thread in her vast web that sent her scurrying towards us." Sherlock's hand resumed its nervous play near hers. He very much wanted to touch her, just share contact to ameliorate the fear, but had no idea how to breach the chasm.

"I don't know." Joan yawned and lay back on her pillow. "Just promise you won't go after her alone. Promise me...."

Sherlock leaned in and whispered. "I promise as long as you do the same." He bravely let his fingertips brush hers. Joan responded by moving her hand to encircle his fingers. She closed her eyes and their hands readjusted for comfort but stayed clasped. Reassured of the tentative safety of the other, they surrendered to much needed rest. 

 

The chime of a message woke him from his light sleep. "How adorable. Holding hands as if that will keep you safe. I do hope our dear Joan is feeling better. I left a get-well present for her. Bye-bye for now. Oh and don't worry, I'll keep in touch."

The explosion woke Joan up.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From Chapter 2:  
>  _"How adorable. Holding hands as if that will keep you safe. I do hope our dear Joan is feeling better. I left a get-well present for her. Bye-bye for now. Oh and don't worry, I'll keep in touch."_  
>  The explosion woke Joan up.

Joan gasped. Her body jolted upright. Her eyes sprung open. A yellow haze clouded the room. A dark figure stood doubled over at the foot of her bed. She bolted across blanket and sheets towards him.

He rasped and coughed as she approached, trying to clear his lungs and throat. "It's alright, Watson. I'm alright." 

Sherlock's hair, face and upper body were dusted in yellow powder. Joan grabbed at the corner of her hospital gown, took his face in her hand, lifted it and attempted to wipe the powdery substance from his eyes. 

"What happened? Are you hurt?" Through the yellow mist she searched his face for an answer.

Sherlock put his hand on her wrist, "We need to get out..." He wheezed and started moving them out of the room. 

An incoming rush of medical personnel and police met them as they approached the door. Chaos. Joan locked her arm to his, attempting to stay with Sherlock as the room was evacuated. 

An hour or so later, scrubbed down and in clean gowns, they sat side by side on the edge of another hospital bed once again being debriefed. 

"I was awakened by the chime of the text. She taunted us about our inability to protect ourselves from her, about our safety being illusory and proceeded to claim concern for Watson's well being. Said she left her a get-well gift. I looked up and saw the small square gift box at the foot of the bed. And as I picked it up to take it out of the room, it exploded and sprayed out the yellow powder. A nasty prank obviously, meant to prove a point and nothing else."

Gregson scowled, "You're sure it's her? 'Cause the woman is in a federal penitentiary and currently under 24 hour surveillance. I don't see how ..."

"I'm certain."

Unable to contribute to the conversation, Joan sat peripheralized beside Sherlock. She felt victimized and not in control; feelings she did not care for. 

Gregson continued, "We'll need the text message. See if it can be traced..."

"I'm sure it cannot be traced. She wouldn't be that careless." Sherlock opened the message and passed the phone to Watson. "I think you should see this first." 

Taking the phone from Sherlock, she read the text, and anger rose as she did so. This woman had thrust herself back into their lives, tortured, taunted and ridiculed them, and now promised future harm. 

She closed her eyes to try to regain her composure. Moriarty mocking them in a private moment also left her feeling vulnerable. Joan looked up at Sherlock and could see the same reticence she felt. She handed the phone back to him.

He took it and asked permission without words. She nodded her agreement and he turned the phone over to Gregson. 

"It's definitely her. Condescending, sarcastic bitch. She is intent on humiliating and trivializing before she takes further action." Joan looked disgusted.

Sherlock amused by Watson's tirade launched into a coughing fit. 

Concerned, Joan turned her attention to him, waiting for his breathing to normalize before she spoke to him. "I think its gamboge."

Sherlock's eyebrows shot up. "Mmm, yes, quite possible." He looked intrigued, "It would certainly confirm her as the author of this prank and the kidnapping."

Joan turned to the detectives. "I'm not certain but I think if you analyze the powder disbursed by the explosive, you'll find it to contain gamboge, the yellow paint pigment I identified when we first encountered Irene."

Marcus nodded remembering the bottle of yellow pigment. "We've got it in the lab right now. I'll make sure they check."

Gregson finished reading through the text and looked from one to the other. "So you think this attack is aimed at you two for personal reasons, rather than some bigger scheme of hers?"

"We're not sure. She could certainly have killed us both at any point. We're not sure if this is meant as a distraction from something bigger or a sadistic and very calculated attempt at revenge."

Joan spoke up, "By the way, how did that box get in the room, someone came in and obviously reported to her .... The guard saw nothing?"

Bell looked up from his notebook, "The guards at one point this evening were distracted by a minor scuffle at the end of the hall and went to break it up. We are checking the video from the hospital security cams but aren't sure if it will be of much help."

"We're putting you in protective custody." Gregson scowled waiting for an argument. The response was immediate.

"Excellent!"  
"No!"

Joan turned sharply towards Sherlock. "What? You can't be serious!"

Sherlock spoke directly to the captain. "Putting Watson in protective custody would be best for all concerned..."'

"Me? I don't need any more protection than you."

Sherlock moved his head to the side and spoke, "You are her target..."

"We both are her target." She moved in closer lowering her voice.

His voice dropped and he spoke directly at her. "She means to harm you to harm me. If I know you're safe, I can work towards ..."

"No. That's unacceptable. I will not be put in storage .."

Gregson looked at Bell for support. He declined to step in; he knew better. The captain tried to interrupt, "Excuse me." They ignored him. 

"I need to know your safe in order to be able to work..."

"What happened to I'm better with you, more focused ... " she whispered the words at him and watched his eyes soften. "You need me."

He scanned her face, and seeing her resolve, caved. "Fine. But we go back to sober companion rules."

"Fine. I'll go where you go." She locked her eyes to his. 

He sighed still not convinced it was the best solution, flashing to images of the torture she suffered less than 48 hours ago.

"Seriously, Watson, she is evil incarnate and means to harm you. Protective custody would be..."

"No! It won't and I will not ..."

"Hey .... HEY!" Gregson put an end to their argument. "I don't think I asked either you if you would like to go into custody. It wasn't an invitation. There is no choice here."

They turned their attention back to Gregson who stood over them. 

"Locking us away makes no sense. I know Moriarty better than anyone...." Sherlock felt Watson's glare and acknowledged it, "We know her better than anyone. Keeping us out of the loop would only hinder the investigation."

"Besides, no matter where you put us, it will only be a matter of time before she finds us." Joan and Sherlock presented a united front.

"Let us go back to the brownstone and work from there. You can surround us with New York City's finest if it will make you feel better." Sherlock waited for Gregson's response. 

"I promise I won't let him do anything rash." Joan presented herself as the more rational member of the partnership. She knew Gregson trusted her.

The captain scrunched his eyes closed and wiped his face with his hand as he considered their request. Truth be told, he knew there was no place safe from this monster. At least they'd be on home ground at the brownstone. 

"Alright!" He finally blurted out. "But one bad choice, one misstep and I'm putting you both in custody, understood?"

"Understood." Sherlock jumped off the bed, holding on to the back of the hospital gown. "I have a request though. Any chance you could have someone bring us another change of clothes?"


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After weeks of living under police protection, Joan and Sherlock disappear.

"People don't vanish into thin air." Gregson was not pleased. "My people do not vanish into thin air!" He looked at Bell and Lopez and then cast his eyes around the room trying to compose himself.

"Holmes and Watson, while being watched by New York's finest, step out of a car, into a restaurant and disappear? How is that possible? It's been five days now and you guys have come up with nothing. Not a stray hair, not a piece of lint .... Nothing. How is that possible?"

Bell took the heat. He was just as upset as the Captain about Holmes and Joan disappearing. "We've searched the brownstone from top to bottom, checked their emails, phone history, web browsers, we've talked to everyone from Joan's parents to that kid, Teddy, that runs errands for Holmes. Nothing. They walked away from everything or were kidnapped and given their recent run-ins with Moriarty, I think that's the more than likely scenario."

Gregson plopped into his chair. "The woman is on 24 hour surveillance within a maximum security prison. I'm not saying its impossible she had something to do with this, but we need proof ... You had the honor of interrogating her." He looked at Lopez waiting for a response. 

"And she flat out denied any involvement in all this." Lopez looked from Bell to the Captain. She had gotten the sense that Moriarty was as surprised as they were by the disappearance of her quarry. "Of course, she's quite an accomplished liar," Lopez quickly added. 

Gregson dropped his head to his hand, "Alright. Let's go through it on more time."

Bell took a breath and once again recited the litany. "Holmes and Watson left the brownstone at 12:13, got into their vehicle and headed for the City. Our guys, as had been customary over the three weeks we've been watching them, followed in their own vehicle. Holmes was driving; he made no attempt to evade or lose the security detail. If anything, he was considerate. They found parking right away and waited for our guys to do likewise before exiting the car and heading into the restaurant." 

"And then poof! They disappear." Gregson had heard this so many times he could recite the report. They kept looking for an anomaly, something they missed, an oddity of some sort, but there was nothing. 

"Yup." Bell shuffled through pages in the file. "According to all the statements we got from the staff and other diners, they were shown to a table and given menus. But by the time our guys came into the dining area they were gone and no one had seen them go." 

Lopez nodded, "And no one has seen or heard from them since; phones are off, no debit or credit card use, no communication whatsoever. Everything appears to have been abandoned - casework, meetings, even their turtle ..."

"Tortoise." Both Bell and Gregson corrected her at the same time. 

Lopez sighed. She did not have the sort of personal relationship with Holmes and Watson that they did and occasionally felt like odd man out. 

A knock on the office door was followed by the entrance of a uniformed officer. "Captain, we just got an email from that hacker group, the one Holmes and Watson use. They said they're forwarding you a link, a video of some sort."

Gregson turned to his laptop and searched his incoming mail. He motioned for Bell and Lopez to come around behind the desk to watch.

The video had no sound and was a little gritty, shot through the windshield of a car, but they could definitely see it was Joan and Holmes in the front seat. The car was stationary and the time stamp was consistent with the time they had parked in front of the restaurant. 

> _Joan appeared to be searching through the glove compartment and suddenly pulled her hand back in apparent pain. Sherlock, looking concerned, took her hand and examined her palm, picking something away and rubbing the spot with his thumb. He then brought his face down to her open palm and placed a small kiss in the center._  
> 

"Huh." Bell softly expelled the word in surprise and Gregson shot him an equally surprised look. They'd never seen Holmes and Watson touch in any kind of an intimate manner.

>   
>  _Joan smiled and brought her other hand to his cheek, bringing him towards her and placing her lips on his, to which he reciprocated by cupping her face and pulling her into a deeper and much more passionate kiss._  
> 

"What the hell...." Gregson was confused by the new evidence. Bell leaned in to make sure he was seeing properly. Lopez, not being familiar with the consultants, just took it all in and tried to make sense of what she was viewing.

>   
>  _Joan and Sherlock separated. He rubbed his nose to hers and said something to which she smiled, and in return gave him one more quick kiss. Sherlock looked in the rear view mirror said something else and they both separated and exited the car. The video ended._

Gregson and Bell sat in open mouth confusion, embarrassment and, truth be told, slight amusement. The captain turned to Bell, "Did you know about this? About uh, uh, a relationship between these two?"

"No." Bell shook his head. "I mean I've always wondered, you know, we all did, but no. Didn't have a clue."

Lopez spoke up, "Its not that surprising though is it? I mean they've worked and lived together on and off for what, almost three years; it happens. Partners become intimate. It's nothing out of this world."

Gregson looked at her, "You were put on the case because you don't know these two, for objective opinion and insight, so let me assure you - this comes as a complete surprise to us - these two rarely touched and never as anything more than as friends .... Although ... some of the looks I caught Sherlock throwing her way sometimes ..." Gregson smiled a crooked smile up at Bell who nodded and agreed.

"Okay, fine. The behavior is out of character." Lopez tried to steer them back towards the subject at hand. "What does this all mean? How does this relate to their disappearance?"

Bell scrunched his face, "Why was Everyone following them and why do they think this is relevant for us to know?"

Gregson sat staring at the screen before him and posed his own question, "Why would two people who have obviously gone to great lengths to hide this relationship, sit in a parked car, in midtown, in broad daylight and for lack of a better word ... neck?

\--------------------------

The diner's breakfast crowd was beginning to thin out. They sat with their backs to the window, ignoring the mountain view and the clouds that threatened rain.

Joan's fingertips gently scratched at Sherlock's beard. "This grew in really quickly, didn't it?"

Sherlock pursed his lips at her and played with the corner of his napkin. He leaned in towards her and whispered, "This is getting easier as we go along, isn't it?" His mouth went from her ear to her neck where he solemnly placed several kisses before the waitress appeared before them.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and Joan have run away and set themselves up as bait in order to catch their nemesis. This swings into joanlock. 
> 
> Let me know if you see holes, typos, have questions about what is going on.

No doubt existed as to the ability of a properly-motivated Moriarty to leave the confines of her prison cell. Sherlock and Joan chose their current upstate residence mainly for her convenience: it was within a hundred mile radius of her place of incarceration. The secluded status of their temporary home also provided less chance of anyone getting caught in the crossfire when she made her move and they made theirs. 

Sherlock entered the room, stopping at the threshold to admire the silhouette of his partner. Ironic, he thought, Moriarty's machinations, meant to instill fear, to tear them down and apart, had had quite the opposite effect. The events of the past few weeks brought them closer and made them stronger. Watson and he, now purposefully very much on their own, were thriving amid the danger. 

Joan stood in front of the picture window watching the clouds build over the mountains. The cabin they rented afforded them some beautiful views - tall green pines and swathes of wildflowers with the mountains as backdrop. She took a content sip from her cup, almost forgetting that they were here to lure Moriarty out, to make her show her hand and bring an end to her reign of terror. 

Sherlock made his presence known to Joan with the placement of his hands upon her shoulders and with that same motion alerted her to something being amiss. Physical contact was reserved for public consumption. He moved in closer and spoke calmly, "We have been found and are being watched ... sun glint off a lens in the undergrowth on the right handside of the grove." He kissed her cheek.

Joan leaned into his kiss, feeling the softness of his beard sweep across her face. She scanned the greenery before her and spoke equally as calmly, "A camera lens or rifle scope do you think?"

He moved his hands to her waist. "Camera lens, perhaps streaming photos right to her." He hesitantly placed his lips at her neck and lightly kissed her before continuing. "Not a rifle scope. She prefers to be present for the kill; likes to look her prey in the eyes before dealing the death blow."

A cold chill ran through Joan as the memory of their torture resurfaced; it had been a game of catch and release, a warning of things to come. Sherlock felt her shudder and wrapped his arms more firmly around her. "Sorry," he murmured. 

Joan turned the fear to anger and the anger into a need for revenge. She pivoted within his embrace to face him."Well, if she's just being a voyeur, why don't we give her a show. It must get so lonely in her cell..." He cocked an eyebrow at her as she moved out of his arms and placed her cup on the slim table at their side. Making sure he was facing the window, Joan moved in close and took his face in her hands. His eyes, darting from her face to the window and back, registered a certain amount of embarrassment at her touch. 

Joan stood on tip-toe and brought his face close to hers. Moving her lips over his, she kissed him slowly, gently, enjoying his response - startled at first and then as he relaxed, his lips parted and pressed in against hers. Bit by bit, the physicalities of their sham relationship, was getting easier. As the kiss continued, Joan took hold of the sides of his shirt and pulled upward, easing the shirt from the confines of his pants.

"What are you doing?" his voice was a whispered breath.

She looked up at him and with a raise of her eyebrows and a tilt of her head, she reached for his collar. Her warm hand sliding between his neck and shirt was surprisingly sensual for both. Joan took a moment. She undid that first top button with great care, splaying the collar open before moving on to each button in its turn. Sherlock watched her; his look stern at first melted into complete adoration. "You are going above and beyond duty."

She raised her eyes to his, "I've always been an overachiever." 

Joan spread his shirt open, making sure the unveiling was visible to their watcher. Her hands tenderly caressed his chest. She moved forward and placed her forehead on his breast, letting her nose rub the fine hairs that swirled there. 

"Watson ... You don't have to ... " 

Joan placed tiny open mouth kisses on his chest, slowly moving down his torso. His fingers wove themselves into the dark strands of her hair. Sherlock stopped protesting and closed his eyes, giving in to the absolute pleasure of the sensation. 

Joan continued to blissfully make her way down to the muscled softness of his abdomen. She reached his belt, and looked up at him with a mischievous look in her eye. Taking a beat, to make her intentions known, she unbuckled and unzipped. Sherlock stood, taking deep breaths. Joan took the belt ends in her hands, tugging him forward as she walked backwards. She effectively moved them out of the view of any window, positioning them in the darkened corner of the small living room. Sherlock found support against the brick wall, while he attempted to regulate his breath. 

"What do you think? Too much?" Joan equally breathless, smiled broadly at him, waiting for his reaction.

"Very convincing performance Watson. I, at least certain parts of me, were wholly convinced as to your intentions." He gave her one of his rare smiles. 

The exuberance of the moment, the adrenaline rush that came from taunting the caged lion, quickly faded and Joan and Sherlock were left face to face in the quiet corner of their makeshift home. This past week had been full of carefully orchestrated public displays of affection. The line between play-acting and reality was quickly eroding. Silently, their eyes roved the other's face, searching for clues, assessing which side of the smudged line they were on. 

Her hand still lay at his waist band. Her thumb pressed gently against his exposed skin and minutely moved back and forth.

Sherlock moved tentatively, his hand reaching for her face. Fingers softly moved across her cheek, tracing their way to her lips; his thumb pulled lightly across her lower lip and received a tender kiss as it did. His head quickly moved down and hers quickly up and arms encircled as their lips met.

The kiss was slow and passionate and theirs and theirs alone; meant for no one else's consumption. The need for satisfaction of their long denied desire for intimacy bloomed and they pressed deeper into each other. Every touch prior to this felt counterfeit and paled in comparison. The outer world, the danger that sat just outside their windows, disappeared and they existed only in that moment. 

A loud knock at the front door jolted them apart. Fear quickly replaced passion. 

"You don't think it's her ..." Joan whispered.

"She's not one to knock, but just in case ..." he jutted his chin in the direction of the desk drawer as he released her and moved to the front door.

She walked over to the desk and pulled out the hand gun they had grudgingly brought. Though both could be classified as excellent marksmen, neither were convinced of the efficacy of guns in these types of situations. 

Looking through the door's peephole, Sherlock announced, "UPS, something looks amiss though, keep your eyes open." Joan stood behind and to his side, gun in hand but out of sight.

Sherlock aggressively pulled the door open. 

Clipboard in hand, Marcus Bell, in UPS uniform, pushed up his cap just a bit and took in the condition of his AWOL companions.

"Nice shorts," muttered Sherlock in greeting.

"Hey, at least I'm zipped up ..." Bell's retort hit its mark and Sherlock discreetly zipped his pants while Joan looked away past Marcus, to make sure their watcher was not about.

"I'm not here to blow you're cover." Marcus put the clipboard in front of them. "Sign here please."

Sherlock took the clipboard and read the message thereon before scrawling his answer onto it.

"Marcus, we have someone watching at the back of the house. Not NYPD?" Joan asked.

Concern flickered on Marcus's face, "Nope. Not us." Marcus noted the gun in Joan's hand. "You two okay?" 

They nodded to the affirmative. Marcus handed Sherlock a small package in exchange for the clipboard. "The flashdrive has more info." He nodded, tipped his cap and made his way back to the brown truck. 

Joan closed the door while Sherlock, rather self-consciously, buttoned his shirt up as he spoke.

"The clipboard had a message from the captain. They've surmised what we are doing and were able to track us here picking up on the trail we've left for Moriarty." Sherlock opened the parcel, "They are hanging back but available to us when the time comes." 

Joan moved to the back window. "I'm assuming our visitor took off when Marcus arrived, but just in case..." She closed the vertical blinds. 

Sherlock pulled the flashdrive from its bubble-wrap blanket. "Let's see what we have here, hmm?"


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally! Sorry it took so long to finish.

The cabin was dark and the night so densely quiet, even the crickets seemed to chirp in muted tones. They lay in bed, vigilant. Listening. A rustle. Then nothing. Sherlock leaned over and spoke quietly in Watson's ear, "She's here."

Joan responded by placing her hand around the back of his neck. Her thumb slowly rubbed to and fro across his hair. Sherlock drove his fingers through her hair, tousling it. He maneuvered his body over hers. 

Solemnly they stared at each other, preparing for what was to come. "Okay?" He asked needing reassurance and permission for what they were about to do.

"Yes." Joan whispered. Gripping his hair, she pulled him down towards her.

The sharp pang of her action spurred him forward. His bare torso collapsed onto her as his open mouth found its way up her neck to her lips. This could be no imitation of passion; their need had to be felt and radiated out to their guest. 

She groped at his back, urging him closer; her breathing heavy as she wrapped her bare legs around him. Sherlock responded in equal measure trying to not lose all control. His mouth and tongue slipped down her neck to her covered breast and up again.

They undulated in sensuous movement, listening between breaths, waiting for the spider to make her move. 

Moriarty strode quietly into the room, coming round the foot of the bed. The silvery moonlight streaming through the window silhouetted and highlighted the couple's every move. She watched for a moment before speaking. "My, my .... You lied to me Joan Watson. Can't keep your hands off him can you."

The startled pair jumped convincingly. Sherlock resisted the instinct to place himself between Watson's body and the menacing shadow that stood at the foot of the bed. Joan fumbled with the bedside lamp until the yellow glow revealed Jaime Moriarty, clad appropriately in black, weapon in hand.

Moriarty watched the pair. "Come now, don't act surprised. You knew I was coming." Her lip twisted into a smirk. 

Sherlock stared her down. Moving carefully lest he startle her, he got out of bed and stood. She didn't react. "It took you long enough." Moriarty watched him carefully. Her lack of reaction emboldened him, "You're losing you're touch old girl. I thought I was going to have to break out bread loaves in lieu of the crumbs; the trail to follow could not have been made clearer."

His manner did not sit well with Moriarty. No one called her "old" anything for starters and his insolent tone added insult to the injury of finding him with Watson's legs wrapped tight around him. She stared at him and assessed his manner and that of Watson's. 

Sherlock continued. "Getting ballsy aren't you? No henchman. No backup?"

"I don't need assistance. This is a personal matter to be taken care of one on one." She strode around the bed closer to him. The weapon glistened in her hand. 

"But you do have men stationed at the door and back garden, hmm? Everyone needs a little assistance, now and then, don't they, Jaime." She arched an eyebrow at him and said nothing. Sherlock looked at Joan and then at his nemesis, "Well, then, let's get on with it..." Sherlock taunted.

Joan moved across the bed and stood beside Sherlock. Joan's hand caught his forearm. He wrested his arm away from her as if annoyed by the touch. 

Sherlock's voice registered impatience. "The longer you take, the greater the odds the police will interrupt."

"Interrupt what dearest?"

"You are here to exact sweet revenge on the one who bested you, are you not?Let's dispense with the formalities. Just kill her and have done with it." 

Joan turned to him in disbelief. 

Moriarty looked from one to the other. "And here I thought our Joan meant the world to you." Her tone turned dry, "At least you seemed quite attached a minute or so ago."

"Ah... You wish me to appear distraught at the prospect of losing my partner? I will if that's what it takes."

The gun shifted slightly in her hand and her stance signaled her lack of trust in his sudden turn around. 

Sherlock looked straight into the woman's eyes and explained. "Joanie here lied, slept with my brother, and left me after I begged her to stay. Me, Sherlock Holmes, begged her to stay." Sherlock nodded his head in disbelief. "I've been done with her for some time."

Moriarty's eyes darted to Watson who looked surprisingly disturbed - not the cool, supercilious manner she usually adopted around her. "What's the matter, Joan? Is Sherlock going off script?" Jamie moved closer, rearranging a strand of her dark hair with the weapon's nuzzle.

Sherlock interrupted Moriarty's menacing scrutiny of Watson. "I thought I had a partner, some watching my back. I didn't. She has served her purpose. I won't deny she is a help but I decided in London to eventually find a way to give her back what she had given me. You are the means to that end." 

Moriarty turned her attention to him. "What are you playing at, Sherlock?" She inched her head closer to his, examining his face, the gun still firm between them. "You know games are my specialty, hmm? You seemed quite willing to lay down your life for hers just a few weeks ago. The sudden change seems less than honest ..." 

"You said it best yourself. You and I are two of a kind, without peers. I'd been mesmerized, lulled into mediocrity by Joan's insipid manner, the routine dullness of my life with her. She is no match for me. I came to understand my feelings better after you first abducted us. Your mastery ... the passion of your plans re-awakened me...." 

Joan grabbed his shoulder and turned him toward her, "Sherlock! What are you saying? You aren't like her. You have a conscious and a soul. You care ...how could you believe that this ... this bodily incarnation of evil is equal in any way to you ..." She spat the words out, emotion overwhelming her. 

"Let go of me ..." Sherlock sneered at her and brusquely removed her hand from his shoulder. "You've hooded and restrained me long enough."

Joan moved between Sherlock and Moriarty, her face red with anger, she yelled at him. "I won't let you throw your life away like this..."

Sherlock face turned red, his eyes burned into her and he suddenly backhanded her hard across the face. She took the blow and turned back to look at him. Blood trickled from her lips. "Sherlock, don't do this ..." 

Moriarty stood motionless, observing.

"Don't tell me what to do." Sherlock's rage swelled and he hit her hard enough to send Joan to the ground. The thud of her head against the wallboard reverberated in the room.

Moriarty slowly moved to where Joan lay and examined her. She was alive, bleeding and unconscious, but alive. She looked up at Sherlock, a smile curling her lips. "So, what is your plan?" She stood and walked over to him. "I kill her and you walk away the hero for capturing me?"

Sherlock smiled, "Not quite. I walk away with a much better reward .... You." He moved forward, his hands reached for her, crawling around her waist and up her back. Moriarty let the strap of the guard she'd so far carefully kept in place slip slightly down her shoulder. His lips sought her skin and she succumbed to the memory of who and what she wanted him to be. Sherlock had always been the chink in her armor. He ignited something within her that no one else ever had. Knowing this, made her wary ... Up to now. The man had finally come to his senses. Convincing herself she had won, Jaime allowed herself the spoils of her war.

Sherlock maneuvered her to the bed, his hands skimming across and around the body he had once mourned when Irene passed. Jaime let go a little more. The weapon, still within reach, was laid at her side. Her hands instead held on to Sherlock, as she began to drift into memories, enjoy the longed for attentions of the man she'd won... 

The click of a gun being cocked was followed by a clear and cold voice. "I suggest you make no sudden moves." Traces of blood marred her features but Joan was quite conscious and in complete control.

Sherlock grabbed the gun by Moriarty's side and moved to stand. Jaime jumped up at the opportunity and tried to wrestle the gun away from him. A shot burned a black hole inches from the blonde's hair. Jaime froze.

"That was a warning. Next one finds the remnants of your heart."

"She is an excellent marksman. I'd heed her warning, if I were you." Sherlock held on to her and grabbed a zip-tie from his pocket. He wrapped it tight around Moriarty's wrists. 

He glanced at Watson, "You alright?"

"Never better." Joan did not take her eyes off the captive. "Have you signaled?"

"Mmmm..." He reached for the phone beneath the mattress. "Her men have been disarmed. Our friends in blue should be here any minute."

Moriarty watched, disgusted with herself and them. "Don't think you've won." She warned. "You two deserve each other. Next time I will not be so easily fooled. Next time it will be cold and impersonal and I won't need to be the one to pull the trigger. I still win. The game is not over." Hatred oozed from her every word. 

Joan looked at her amused. "Tell yourself whatever you need to to keep you company alone in your concrete cell. But we won. Even if by some miracle, you succeed in killing one or the other or both of us, we still win. We. Sherlock and I. We are connected in ways you will never understand. Nothing and no one can break that bond."

A clatter and voices announced the arrival of the police. "In here," shouted Sherlock.

Bell burst into the room followed by a small army of agents. Relieved to see the situation had ended peaceably, he confirmed their status. "You two okay?" 

"Yes and I dare say we've not been this okay in quite sometime." Sherlock handed his weapon over to Bell and Joan followed suit. They watched as Moriarty was placed in chained cuffs by the federal officials and prison guards sent to retrieve her. Venom darted from the woman's eyes but she kept a cool exterior; defeat was something she would never acknowledge. 

Sherlock moved closer to Joan. "I didn't mean to hit as a direct a shot ... As hard as I did...." He studied her face. "Are you alright?" His long fingers moved tentatively, reaching for the strand of hair that fell across her face. Tucking it behind her ear, he traced the line of her jaw, across the fake blood that splotched her face. His fingers hovered over the mark his blow left on her lips. 

"It did sting a bit." Joan smiled at the concern on his face. "Although I think it may have hurt you more." His fingers rubbed at the red on her chin. 

"Still, I apologize. I will endeavor to make proper amends."

"Breakfast in bed perhaps?" Joan teased.

"I think this," he gently moved his finger across her swollen lip, "deserves more than just breakfast ..."

Moriarty side-eyed their half-whispered exchange. Contempt simmered. She raised her voice to her captors, "Who is running this operation? I'm ready to go back. Tell them to have my tea ready."

Detective Bell replied to her demands. "You aren't being taken "back." Extradition papers ... " he smiled at her. "No, wait I believe the term is rendition... Either way, not sure where you're going, but it is far away and you are leaving now." He motioned for her removal.

The clank of ankle chains and other restraints accompanied her shuffled exit. Moriarty needed to have the last word and she tossed them off over her shoulder, "This may slow me down, darling, but it is not stopping me."

Joan looked at Sherlock, "Was she talking to you or me?"

"I believe she was addressing Detective Bell." 

Marcus smiled, "I've never had a nemesis before."

\-------------

She slowly rose to semi-consciousness from a deep and comfortable sleep. Her face pressed against the flat plane of his back, his cotton tshirt warm and soft against her cheek. Her arm was wrapped around Sherlock's middle; her fingers interlaced with his. Joan breathed in and squeezed closer to him. He reciprocated by leaning back into her and further entwining his leg with hers. They drifted back to sleep.


End file.
